


D is for Dilemma

by Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, any other tags I should add?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b/pseuds/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean starts figuring out a few things. Things that majorly freak him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drunk.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys. First off, thanks for reading. I have no idea where this fic is going, so tell me what you think. Don't touch that dial, folks--more chapters to come soon, hopefully.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes his arm and Dean just goes along with it because hey, why not? He's drunk anyways.

“Hey, there.”

Dean looks up from his beer. The town they’re staying in is small and none too exciting—Somewheresville, Indiana. He and Sam just finished hunting down a nest of vampires nearby. His nerd brother decided to stay at the hotel, so Dean headed out to—you guessed it—the nearest bar. Honestly, he’s not even looking for a one-night stand, he just wants to drown his sorrows in beer without Sam nagging him. And also, today’s been another one of those days when he catches himself thinking about stuff he shouldn’t be thinking about. Stuff that pops into his brain at very inopportune times. Like when he’s right in the middle of beheading a vampire, for instance. And now Dean has to go to a bar and pretend that while he was decapitating that fanged bitch, he was not, in fact, wondering about blue eyes and messy hair and a stupid trench coat, or the whereabouts of a certain feathery dork who’s gone completely AWOL since Dean last saw him, which was more than two months ago, and why the fuck is he still thinking about this?

So Dean heads for the nearest comfort: alcohol. Just sitting by himself at a bar. That’s the way he likes it. Of course, just because he isn’t _looking_ for a chick to fuck doesn’t mean he’ll turn it down if one comes his way.

Except the person talking to him now is, in fact, a dude.

Dean looks him over. He’s actually pretty attractive, if a little scruffy-looking with all the stubble. And the way he holds himself is a little weird, sort of hunched over with his neck sticking out like an injured bird.

“Hey,” he replies, a little hesitantly, and the man smiles, holding out a hand.

Dean doesn’t shake. “I, uh, don’t really swing that way, dude. Sorry.”

The guy laughs and puts his hands up defensively. “Hey, that’s cool, man. But geez, can’t a guy introduce himself?”

Dean smiles hesitantly, sheepishly.

“I’m Jack,” he grins, and Dean shakes this time, noticing that Jack has a really strong grip and also some pretty big hands.

“Dean.”

“Whiskey, on the rocks,” Jack calls to the bartender, and then turns back to Dean. “So, Dean. What brings you to Scottsburg?”

Dean shrugs. “Just traveling around.”

“Cool. You do that a lot?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“You must have a decent car, then.”

Dean can’t help grinning with pride. “’67 Chevy Impala.”

Jack whistles. “Damn. You must take mighty good care of her.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

“I had a ’69 Camaro when I was a kid. Belonged to my dad.”

Dean smiles, and they end up talking about cars for well over an hour. Dean keeps on buying drinks, and after a while, Jack starts to insist that he pays for them. As the night progresses, Dean gets less and less coherent. There’s a pleasant buzz under his skin and Jack’s pearly white smile keeps getting friendlier and friendlier.

“So where’s your Camaro now?” he slurs somewhere around eleven.

“Ah, I keep her in the garage,” Jack says, smiling ruefully. “She’s busted, but I can’t give her away.”

“Man, nothing’s ever busted,” Dean grins, noticing that Jack is bizarrely attractive in this lighting and—aw, holy shit, Dean actually kind of wants to fuck him.

What the hell, he figures, shrugging inwardly, and widens his grin. “Maybe I should come take a look at her.”

Jack laughs, raising his eyebrows. “Did you just invite yourself to my house?”

“Yep, think so.” Dean swallows a hiccup.

“I suppose you changed your mind, then?”

He smiles mischievously. “Definitely.”

Jack takes his arm. “All right, then.”

And Dean just goes along with it because hey, why not? He’s drunk anyways.

It’s not until they're back at Jack's place that he actually kisses Dean—Dean's in the middle of some random comment about it being a nice house when Jack suddenly leans in and presses their mouths firmly together, hands reaching up to grip Dean's face. It feels a little weird at first, especially with the stubble, but after a second, it starts to feel nice, so Dean reaches back. It gets wilder and deeper until they're both practically gasping for air. As Jack pushes him up against the wall of his room (jesus christ) it finally occurs to Dean: wait, does this mean I’m gay now?

He has a definite feeling that he might regret this in the morning but he doesn’t really have time to ponder that because Jack’s hands are reaching up and pulling his shirt off and Dean is really into it, grabbing fistfuls of hair and moaning. His hands rove greedily over Jack's torso until the man _fucking drops to his knees_ and undoes Dean's fly, and all the hunter can think is _oh shit oh shit oh shit._

* * * *

He wakes up the next morning with an incredible hangover but a surprising and rather impressively complete memory of the events of the previous night, or at least, the very early morning. Which is why he bolts upright immediately after opening his eyes to realize that he’s in some dude’s bed with no idea what time it is.

“…fuck,” he groans.

Right on cue, Jack wanders in from the bathroom and smiles to see that Dean’s awake.

“Hey, man. You must be pretty hung over, huh?”

“You have no idea…” Dean mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Only, like, seven. You're an early riser.” He winks. Dean tries to ignore that.

Dean lets out a breath. “I gotta get back to Sam.”

Jack goes slightly pale. "Oh, uh...right. I didn't realize you already had a boyfriend..."

Dean rubs his eyes wearily. "What? Jesus, no, he's--" don't tell him the truth, always a bad idea to tell him the truth-- "he's my brother." Or go right ahead, that's just fine.

Jack blushes slightly. Why does everyone always think he and Sam are a fucking couple? "Right, sorry. You need a ride?”

“Uh, no, I’ll just get the bus—”

“Hey, that’s cool. Thanks for last night, anyway. It was great. I, uh…I gave you my number last night, but you may not remember…”

Dean pulls his pants on and can’t wait to get out of there. “Sure, man. Uh…”

“Give me a call anytime,” Jack smirks a little as Dean rushes out the door.

He calms down as he walks to the bus stop. No big deal, right? It was just a hookup.

Then his phone rings.

“Dean? Where are you?”

He grimaces. “I’ll be back at the hotel in five minutes, Sam, okay? Calm down.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Can you just wait? I’ll explain when I get there.”

“All right, all right.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

He hangs up the phone and tries not to think about anything.


	2. Delayed.

Dean arrives back at the hotel room with a pounding headache and a distinct feeling of _dear god I am such an idiot._ How drunk was he that he slept with a _guy?_ Seriously?

Sam’s arms are crossed like the little bitch he is and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Dude, what?”

“You know what. Where the hell were you? I didn’t hear from you all night.”

“I went to a bar. Relax.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Slipped my mind, all right, Sammy? I was drunk. Forget it.”

Sam doesn’t seem to want to drop the issue, but he purses his lips and doesn’t say anything else.

“Fine. I think I found us another case, anyways.”

Dean plops down on the sofa and folds his hands behind his head like he’s on a hammock in the Caribbean. “Shoot.”

“Arlington, Nebraska. Three young men killed in their sleep. Large portions of their skin missing and at least two quarts of blood drained. Each.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. Okay then, sounds like our kind of deal. Let’s hit the road.”

“I’m going to go pick up some breakfast down the street first. We can eat on the way there.”

“Will do.”

Sam leaves the room and Dean gets his stuff together, but as he’s doing so, something catches his eye in the mirror. It’s nothing important, just a broken piece of glass on the floor, but it’s a very precise shade of bright blue. He stares at it and feels a pang somewhere in his chest. Suddenly it’s very hard to swallow.

“Aw, hell,” he growls, and clasps his hands together. “Okay. You haven’t been answering for a while, so I haven’t prayed to you in a few days, but…Cas, if you can hear me, get your ass down here, you feathery bastard. We’re…I’m worried about you.”

No response.

Dean lowers his hands, slightly exasperated. “Come on, man. We don’t know where you are, we don’t know if you’re okay…just—pop down here for a second. I just want to make sure you’re not…that you’re doing all right.”

The only reply he gets is a soft ticking from the clock on the wall. He sighs and gets up, feeling more annoyed and worried than he was before. Cas had better have a damn good reason for not answering his prayers. Stupid feathery son of a bitch.

Well, it was worth a try, anyways.

He and Sam hit the road for Arlington. Dean later pretends that he didn’t spend nearly the entire drive trying to think about anything but the whereabouts of his angel friend.

It’s a pretty long trip, so it’s late at night by the time they finally check into their motel room. Dean’s not too tired to flirt with the woman at the front desk, though. By the time they get their room key, she’s practically wrapped around his finger. Sam just rolls his eyes.

Good to know that just because he drunkenly hooked up with a dude he hasn’t lost his touch.

“Dude, seriously? Every time.”

“What can I say, the ladies love me.”

“You have got to be the horniest guy on the face of the planet.”

“That, or you’re just a bitch.”

“Jerk.”

It’s raining really hard, and they had to end up with a first-floor room right by the drainpipe, so all either of them can hear is a constant dripping noise. Dean doubts he’ll sleep much, which sucks. They’re just getting into bed when there’s a knock on the door. Dean groans.

“Shit, seriously?”

There’s no one who should be knocking on their door at this time of night, so after exchanging alarmed glances with Sam, he grabs his gun and approaches the door slowly. Then he wrenches it open and sees a totally drenched and shivering man in a trench coat standing before him.

At first, Dean doesn’t say anything. Cas just stands there pitifully, looking at him with those big eyes and pathetic expression. He appears to be soaked to the bone, but Dean doesn’t quite feel like letting him in just yet.

“What the _fuck,_ man?”

Cas blinks. “Hello, Dean.”

Sam gapes like he’s seeing a unicorn. “Cas? Jesus, wh—come inside, it’s freezing out.”

Cas looks at him gratefully and steps into the room, trailing rainwater behind him on the carpet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” says Dean quietly, seething with anger. Cas glances at him but looks away quickly, sensing that the oldest Winchester isn’t as happy to see him as he would’ve hoped.

“I…” Cas swallows, unable to finish the thought. He’s not sure what he’s doing here, other than he knew he was hurt and needed help, so his first thought was, of course: Dean.

“I’ve been praying to you for two months. Two fucking months, Cas! With no reply! Where the hell have you been?”

“I was—” Cas starts to explain, but he can’t seem to manage a full sentence. Just then, there’s a flash of lightning that illuminates the room, and for a brief moment, Dean notices several sizable patches of blood under Cas’s trench coat.

Cas tries to speak again. “Dean—I’m sorry, I—”

Then he collapses on the floor.

“Cas? Cas! Shit, Sam, help me out here!”

* * * *

Castiel wakes up without his trench coat, and for some reason, that bothers him a lot more than it should. He looks around for it and realizes that he’s been situated on the pullout couch in the Winchesters’ motel room. Then he spots Dean in a chair directly across from him, fast asleep, and feels an immediate pang of guilt. The man looks more peaceful while he’s snoring than he ever does when he’s awake. Cas immediately resolves not to disturb him. He glances around again in search of his coat and doesn’t see it anywhere, so he tries to sit up to get a better view of the room—a decision which he immediately regrets, due to the incredible pain squeezing his torso, and he instinctively cries out in pain.

Dean jerks awake. “Cas?”

Cas winces and lies back down. “Sorry to wake you.”

Dean stares at him with concerned eyes. “You okay? You must’ve really taken a tumble somewhere,” he says, nodding towards the Cas’s plethora of injuries.

“I’m fine,” he lies, not fooling Dean for an instant. The angel stares back anxiously, knowing that Dean is angry with him. “Dean, I—”

“You should get some rest.” He’s trying not to be too mad since Cas is clearly hurt, but he’s failing pretty miserably at that.

Cas sighs. “Dean—”

“Where were you?” he explodes. “Why didn’t you answer me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Dean almost blushes ( _blushes?_  Seriously?  What the fuck?). Shit. He didn’t mean for that last part to come out.

Cas gives him those sad eyes, and Dean feels himself cracking a little. “Let me explain.”

So Dean crosses his arms. “I’m waiting.”

“I was—the reason you did not hear from me for so long is that I was being followed. Hunted,” he says. “By Crowley and a few of his…minions. I did not want to endanger you by contacting you.”

Dean’s eyes narrow, and he starts to say something along the lines of “you stupid, feathery son of a bitch,” but Cas cuts him off.

“I was running from the demons for a long time and I…ran out of juice, you might say.”

“You mean you spent all your angel mojo playing cash cow? Nice going. Meanwhile,” he scowls, “I’ve been trying to talk you for months and getting nothing but radio silence. And don’t you _dare_ give me that ‘I didn’t want to endanger you’ bullshit. That is fucking ridiculous. You think danger is ever going to be enough to—you think danger is even relevant? _Danger_ is a given in this life. Don’t use that as an excuse.”

Cas has no reply because he won’t apologize for trying to keep Dean safe, but he also won’t say that because it’ll just lead to more arguing and honestly right now he’s exhausted.

Dean lets out a breath. “So how come you showed up here when you realized your batteries were low, then?”

“Well, I believe I’ve finally thrown the demons off my trail, and I knew I needed help, so I…” he trails off, unsure of where that was even going. Dean looks just as hesitant as he, and after a long moment of staring, the hunter turns over in his chair and sniffs, “Well, I’m glad you got here eventually, anyhow.”

He closes his eyes, and Cas watches him fall asleep. The lines on his face gradually smooth out and his breathing gets deeper. It’s a little more reassuring to Cas than it should be to know that Dean is here, by his side.


	3. Donuts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dude. Do you even know how to tie a tie?"  
> "Not exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, me again. I know, another chapter. I'm incredible, right? Consider it an early/late/very prompt birthday present for whoever you are. More should be coming soon.  
> As always, thanks for reading, and any feedback is appreciated.

When Dean wakes up a few hours later, Cas is actually asleep—something he never thought he’d see. He looks a lot less ancient all curled up and peaceful. But as cute as nappy-time angels might be, Dean’s still mad at him.

How could he possibly think that danger would factor in anywhere? How could he think that—well, Dean had almost said it earlier. “You think danger is ever going to be enough to keep me away from you?” That had sounded weird, though, so he’d cut himself off. In fact, he _feels_ sort of weird with Cas around. Though he might not particularly want to admit it, Dean is thrilled to have Castiel here. But at the same time, the angel’s presence scares him a bit. Not because he thinks he’s in danger, but because proximity to him makes Dean feel…odd. It makes his heart speed up and his mouth go dry and his hands twitch like they do when he needs to touch something. It’s freaky, and he doesn’t like it. Maybe he hasn’t been himself lately; he did, after all, sleep with a dude—

Aw, _shit._ It actually really hits him this time, and Dean feels like kicking something. He _slept_   with a _dude._ What in the fuck was he thinking? He must’ve had an insane amount of whiskey. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s _gay_ or anything. Dean Winchester likes women, he always has and he always will. One random drunken mishap with a guy has no effect on that.

Except that a tingle runs down his spine at the memory of Jack’s mouth on his. And he needs to stop thinking about it if he wants to be able to stand up anytime soon. And the fact that, even drunk, he wouldn’t have slept with a guy unless he was really into it. And, fuck, Dean was.

But it was just a fluke. Whatever; he was intoxicated, it meant nothing. He’s straight as a ruler and that is not about to change.

Sam chooses that exact moment to walk in the door carrying a bag of something greasy-smelling.

“I got donuts,” he says, holding it up, and Dean licks his lips.

“Perfect.”

“Should we wake him?” he gestures to the snoozing Cas.

“Nah, he doesn’t need to eat anyways. Besides,” Dean shoves a donut into his mouth, “more for us, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “So I figured I should do some more research on our case here.”

“What do you got?”

“Well, all three of the victims were young males, but I can’t seem to find any connection between them other than that. The first one was a white 23-year-old named Jimmy McIntire who worked at a 7-11. Second was a black 19-year-old named Richard Foster who was saving up for college, and the third was an Asian kid named Roy Cheung, 25 years old, worked at the local library.”

“Huh,” says Dean, mouth full of chocolate glazed, “any ideas?”

“Not really, but—”

He stops midsentence when he realizes Cas is stirring behind them. He sits up slowly and rubs his eyes like a toddler.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

Cas struggles to sit up, wincing the whole way through.

“Whoa, careful there,” says Dean, rushing to the angel’s side. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Cas mutters.

“Yeah, well you had some pretty big wounds, so—”

“I’m fine, Dean,” he repeats. “What are you eating?”

“Donuts.” He waves a chocolate-glazed in front of his nose. “You want one?”

“No.”

“You sure? I mean, I get the whole ‘angels don’t need to eat’ thing, but maybe running on empty isn’t such a good idea right  now.”

Cas eyes the donuts suspiciously, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, man, they don’t bite.”

With much struggling and wincing, Cas stands from his place on the couch and makes his way to the table.

“You know, Cas,” says Sam, “why don’t you just stay with us until you get back on your feet? You being out of angel juice and all. And we could probably use some help on this case.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimes in, possibly against his better judgment. “The more the merrier.”

Cas looks between the two of them. “All right.”

“Great,” says Sam, who then starts filling Cas in on the case. Dean’s insides squirm uncomfortably. _Stop that,_ he tells his body, but to no avail.

* * * *

They head into town to question the people at the 7-11.

“Cas, you can’t look like that and tell people you’re an FBI agent.”

“Look like what?”

“Dude. Do you even know how to tie a tie?”

“Not exactly.”

Dean laughs. “Of course not. C’mere.”

Cas walks over to him, and Dean ignores the way his heart is suddenly thudding against his ribcage. He fixes his hands on Cas’s tie and starts to pull.

“This is on backwards,” he chuckles, but part of him can’t help noticing that they’re very close right now. Definitely crossing the personal space boundary, but he doesn’t really feel like backing away. He pulls the knot of the tie, concentrating hard to keep from staring unashamedly at Cas’s face, the way Cas is staring at him right now. Totally unblinking.

“Dean,” he says softly, and the man’s heart skips several beats. Dean swallows, having trouble speaking. The inside of his mouth feels like the Sahara desert.

“Yeah?” he manages.

“Your hands are shaking, are you all right?”

Dean swears at himself mentally. “Fine,” he gets out. “Okay, your tie’s fixed. Let’s go.”

What the fuck? Why does he feel all clammy and nervous now? What the hell’s going on?

Castiel watches Dean head into the building in confusion. What kind of a reaction was that? Dean seemed almost…frightened. But that doesn’t make any sense.

Sam watched the two of them and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’s suspected for quite some time that Dean might have feelings for Cas going beyond just friendship, but clearly, it’s only just starting to dawn on Dean himself.

“Ma’am?” Dean asks the lady at the counter when they step inside the 7-11. She’s grey-haired and probably under five feet. Next to Sam, she looks like some kind of woodland creature. “My name is Nick Mason, FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“FBI? What does the FBI want in Arlington?” says the woman, looking slightly panicked.

“It’s about Jimmy McIntire.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, yes, I heard about that. Terrible tragedy. Terrible.”

Dean looks to be on the verge of making some kind of smarmy comment, so Sam decides to step in. “Yes. Did you know Jimmy, Mrs. …?”

“Kaplan, Sherry Kaplan. Eh—nice to meet you.”

“Um…yes, Mrs. Kaplan, did you know Jimmy at all?”

“Sure I did. He worked here for three years. Nice boy, very sweet. He was so devastated about Karen last month…”

“Karen?” interjects Dean.

Mrs. Kaplan smiles sadly. “His girlfriend. They’d been together three years when all of a sudden she left him for Jake Dillon down the street.”

Sam’s eyes are so sympathetic and understanding it makes Dean want to hurl.

“Mrs. Kaplan, was Jimmy acting strangely at all before he died? Did he mention anything or anyone out of the ordinary?”

The woman shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Like I said, he was such a sweet boy. Though last week he did break the slushie machine…”

“Thank you,” Dean says, giving her a very forced smile and heading for the door. “Let’s go to the morgue, check out the bodies,” he mutters.

“What? No, we need to find out more about the other two victims before we do that.”

Dean scowls. “What do you think, Cas?”

He looks to the angel, who hasn’t said a word since they entered the store. “I agree with Dean,” he says. “We should gather physical evidence before it deteriorates.”

“Fine.” Sam rolls his eyes. “We’ll split up. You two go look at the bodies and I’ll ask about the other two.”

Dean nods, and they head off.

Upon arriving at the morgue, Dean and Cas lie their way through to see the bodies, which are so mangles and disgusting that Dean doesn’t even have any sarcastic comments to make. Three young men each with portions of their flesh completely stripped away and a huge amount of blood missing.

“Ouch,” was all Dean could think of to say.

“Yes.”

They each bend over one of the bodies and begin examining.

“You said they were all killed in their sleep?”

“Yep.”

Cas frowns. “Hmm.”

“What?” He looks over and notices Cas is doing that thing he always does when he’s confused or concentrating—the one where he tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes and furrows his brow. It’s adorable.

_Wait, what the fuck? Adorable?_

Dean’s heart is skipping beats and he’s already forgotten what he was asking about. _What the hell is going on here?_

Cas is, of course, completely oblivious. “On the boy’s face, there seems to be…some sort of hair,” he says. “I think it might be…donkey hair.”

Dean shakes himself mentally and nearly laughs. “Donkey hair? Seriously?”

Cas nods, looking utterly baffled.

“So, a murderous jackass ate their skin and drained their blood?”

“Apparently.”

Dean pulls out his phone and dials Sam’s number.

“Yeah, you may want to come take a look at this…”

* * * *

They discuss it over takeout later that evening.

“Donkey hair just doesn’t make any sense,” says Dean, mouth full.

“And it was on all three bodies?” asks Sam.

“Yes, but on different parts of the body each time,” Cas supplies. “What other similarities did you find?”

“Well,” Sam chews his Chow Mein thoughtfully, “all three boys had recently broken up with their girlfriends, and they were all killed in their sleep.”

Dean blanches. “That’s it?”

“Yep, and I’m stumped. You got any ideas?”

“Nope. Cas?”

“None.”

Dean scowls. “Fantastic.”

“We’ll just have to keep digging tomorrow,” says Sam.

“I agree.” The angel steals a fortune cookie and stares at it with fascination. “I’ve never understood the human obsession with trying to predict the future.”

“People want to know what’s coming, Cas,” says Dean, taking his own cookie. “The unknown is scary. But thank god I’ve got these things to tell me what’s up next. Apparently my true love will show himself to me under the moonlight.”

Cas cracks the cookie in half and reads. “‘A new business venture is on the horizon.’”

Dean grins for no reason whatsoever. “Nice one.”

Sam holds up his hands. “I can top that. Mine says ‘enjoyed the meal? Buy another and get a free coupon!’”

All three of them start laughing, even Cas, and Dean can’t help staring. Cas full-on laughing, with a genuine _I’m-legitimately-enjoying-myself_ light in his eyes is a sight to see.

“Hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we getting for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Donuts.”

“Perfect.”


	4. Dammit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perhaps we missed something," Cas allows.

Dean has a dream.

It’s a weird dream; it starts off like a lot of others he has, with a girl involved. She has a long, dark braid and a set of very swift hands. She climbs atop Dean and straddles him, laughing; he grins back at her, rock hard—that’s when it gets weird, because that’s when Dean notices how bright and blue her eyes are, and that’s when two huge black wings unfold from her back, and that’s when her hands morph into something less delicate, something larger and rougher. Those hands trace over his chest, and he can feel their callouses and the pads of their fingers on his skin, tracing patterns across his chest—

Then he wakes up, dazed and confused.

_What the hell?_

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” says Sam, already at the table with his promised donuts. “Breakfast.”

After they eat, the three of them decide to check out each of the scenes of the crime. The woman at the front desk winks at Dean as they leave the hotel.

“What was her name again?” asks Sam.

“Jennifer, I think,” says Dean. “Or Janice—”

“It’s Janine,” says Cas, speeding ahead and looking irritated.

In the car, Dean turns on the radio and sings along when Achilles’ Last Stand comes on.

“ _Sending off a glancing kiss, to those who claim they know,  
Below the streets that stream and hiss, the devil’s in his hole._ ”

Sam rolls his eyes as Dean croons and drums on the steering wheel. Cas just stares at him, looking rather fascinated. But that’s sort of how he always looks when he’s staring at Dean.

 _What is it with those two?_ Sam wonders. Just based on the way they always stare at each other, it’s clear they both want to be more than friends. And the sexual tension whenever one gets too close to the other is nearly palpable. It makes him want to leave the room every freaking time. But neither of them seems able to acknowledge it. Dean’s so emotionally constipated he probably can’t even take a clue. Actually, Dean wouldn’t know a clue if it sat on his lap and called him _mama._ And then there’s Cas: utterly hopeless at unraveling feelings of any kind. The two idiots could dance around each other for the rest of their lives and not get any closer. But it’s clear that if they’d just snap out of it, they could both be happy.

Well, Sam may just have to give them a little push.

* * * *

“Cas, order something,” Dean demands, shooting him a _just-eat-something-you-dumbass-you’re-still-low-on-angel-juice_ look. Cas presses his lips together in a thin line and orders a chocolate milkshake. Fortunately for Dean, he doesn’t use the straw. His imagination does not need encouraging.

_Wait, what? What the hell, man? No, just…no. What’s going on here?_

Dean shoves this disturbing thought to the back of his brain so he can _definitely not_ examine it later.

Unfortunately for Dean, this diner doesn’t even have pie to distract him.

“Well, whatever crazed half-donkey is killing these people,” says Sam, “I think we’d better find it fast.”

“Yeah, no shit,” says Dean, at the same time Cas says, “Why does it have to be a half-donkey?”

Dean turns to look at him. “You think a _whole_ donkey is doing this?”

Cas shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“How? I don’t think jackasses have very sharp teeth…”

“I don’t know, but it is possible.”

“Should we go back and check over Roy Cheung’s apartment again?” asks Sam, prompting a groan from his brother.

“Dude, are you kidding? All we found there was a ton of star wars posters and a shitload of Pokémon cards.”

“Perhaps we missed something,” Cas allows.

“I don’t want to go back in there. It smelled weird.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, it didn’t, you’re just paranoid.”

“We’re _hunters,_ Sam. If we weren't paranoid we’d have died a hundred times over by now.”

“Well, we sort of already have, so…”

Dean gives him a _look_ but doesn't say anything, so Sam knows he’s won the argument.

Cas feels the need to interject. “Look, maybe we should reconsider. I think it’s possible that—”

He stops because their way-too-cheery waitress has just approached with their food. “One bacon cheeseburger and one chicken Caesar salad,” she says with a gigantic smile.

“You’re such a health freak,” Dean mutters.

“Shut up.”

“Cas, you’re seriously not going to get any food?”

“As I have told you, Dean, I do not require sustenance to—”

“All right, all right. Well, if we’re going back to that kid’s place, I at least want to have food in me.”

Cas cocks his head. “I suppose you changed your mind, then?”

“Yeah, I—” Dean starts to reply.

But then he stops.

And stares.

Because those are the _exact freaking words_ that Jack used at the bar, and Dean suddenly realizes that the weird sort of posture Jack had, all slouched over with his neck sticking out, that’s exactly the way Cas holds himself. It reminds him of Jack, or maybe Jack reminded him of Cas, and the two have suddenly become fused together in his mind, so now when he thinks of Jack’s hands on his chest, Jack’s mouth making a wet trail along his neck, now the memory’s all blurred into _Cas’s_ hands, _Cas’s_ mouth—

This is not good.

“Dean?” says Cas, tilting his head, and Dean swallows, finding it difficult to look at him.

“Yeah. Uh. What?”

“Are we going?”

Dean looks around and notices that Sam somehow already paid the bill. “Oh. Okay. Yeah.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Dean spends the rest of the day trying his hardest not to stare at Cas or let his imagination wander or notice the way his stomach does backflips when Cas gets too close or how it raises goosebumps on the back of his neck when Cas’s fingers accidentally brush his arm and oh, fucking shit.

They go back to the motel later after finding a frustrating amount of nothing whatsoever helpful at all three crime scenes, and Dean makes some shitty excuses and locks himself in the bathroom.

_What the fuck is this?_

That’s a stupid question because, really, Dean already knows. Fuck.

He wants Cas. He’s attracted to Castiel.

His first reaction to this realization is something along the lines of _fuck, fuck, shit, goddammit, what the hell?_

How did this even happen? How did he end up lusting after his best friend, who is a fucking angel of the lord and also a _guy?_

This is very, very not good.

Dean buries his head in his hands and tries to let his thoughts stray anywhere but remembering Jack that night, since the memory has now morphed into some sort of fantasy involving Cas. He doesn't think about how easy it would be to grab his backwards tie and pull him in for a kiss, and he doesn't think about what it would feel like to run his hands through the angel’s eternally messy hair, or how nice it would be to feel Cas’s stubble against his cheek, and he _definitely_ doesn't imagine Cas’s lips pressed against his—

Crap. What is he supposed to do with this? How is he even supposed to deal with this?

Sam knocks on the bathroom door. “Dean, we got pizza!”

“All right, all right!”

Dean takes a deep breath. Okay, fine. So he’s attracted to his best friend. No big deal, right? He can manage that. As long as he doesn't let it show, everything will be fine.

He steps out of the bathroom and looks anywhere other than Cas’s blue, blue eyes. Or the rest of him, for that matter.

Shit.


	5. Distracted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is it with you and that show?"  
> "Hey, what's wrong with it?"  
> "It's a soap opera!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this one is a bit longer, so hopefully that makes up for the delay. Sorry, it's taking me forever, I'm swamped with about fifteen projects...I'll do my best to add more within a fortnight.

Now that he’s realized it, Dean can’t stop thinking about it. Every time Cas cocks his head to the side Dean ends up licking his lips; every time Cas tries to fix his tie and ends up exposing a little sliver of neck, Dean has to look away to stop his imagination running wild; every time he’s driving he has to concentrate with all his might to keep his eyes on the road and the not the mirror, in which he has a great view of Cas.

But as hard as he tries to hide his attraction, his body keeps betraying him. Every damn time Cas gets too close (which a lot) his heart speeds up or his mouth goes dry or a shiver runs down his spine. It’s really, really annoying. Though not as annoying as not being able to look at his best friend without wondering how soft his lips are.

Dean Winchester has been turned into a teenage girl.

He  groans inwardly.

The worst part is that if he’s honest with himself, this has been going on for quite a while. He can’t even pinpoint when it started, but for a long time he’s found himself thinking about Cas in disturbing ways, and far too often.

The thing is, now that he’s _acknowledged_ it, he’s not sure how he managed to ignore it before, or hide it, for that matter. He has no idea how to really deal with it. For most of his adult life, whenever he wanted a girl, he could usually get her, or at least get something close enough. He’s never had to hide feelings this strong before.

But now he does, and worse still, they’re feelings for a _guy._ Does this mean he likes men now? He shudders. There's a scary thought.

He flips vacantly through the TV channels, searching for a distraction, and positively lights up when he lands on a rerun of _Dr. Sexy M.D._

“What is it with you and that show?” Sam shakes his head.

“Hey, what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a soap opera!”

“Is not! There aren’t even any evil twins. Well, not a lot of them, anyway.”

Sam stifles a laugh, prompting a scowl from his brother. “Shut up and let me watch.”

Cas stares at the TV with vague interest, like he can’t quite decipher it. Dean glances over and stifles a chuckle at how hard the angel seems to be concentrating. (He definitely _does not_ notice the adorable way Cas’s hair is sticking up, nor does he feel an overpowering urge to run his hands through it.)

“You gonna watch?”

It slips out of his mouth before he can think it through and he immediately feels like smacking himself in the face. _Idiot! Are you insane? You can’t ask him to watch TV with you! You’re having a hard enough time with this—literally—already, and now look what you've done. Nice going, Winchester._

But he’s already said it, so he can’t back out now. He pats the seat beside him and cocks a half-smile. “Come on. I’ll catch you up on the plot.”

Cas considers it seriously for a moment, then says, “All right, then.”

Dean sucks in his breath to keep from doing anything incredibly stupid as Cas takes a seat beside him on the couch.

“Just watch, buddy, you’ll get hooked.”

After five minutes, Cas is frowning incredulously at the screen. Obviously he’s overthinking it. “Dude, what?”

“I don’t think real hospitals operate this way. It seems as though half of the doctors are constantly fornicating with each other.”

Sam snorts from across the room. “The show is called _Dr. Sexy_. I don’t think they’re aiming for realism here.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Cas shakes his head. “Why did that man just faint after delivering a child? Is that not his job?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, he’s freaked out because he’s delivering his best friend’s wife’s baby, only he slept with her, so now he just found out that the baby is his.”

“I see.”

Dean’s eyes remain fixed on the screen with vivid fascination, but Castiel can’t help letting his own gaze slide to the hunter’s face.

He thinks it’s a nice face.

Cas resists the urge to turn his head and blatantly stare in order to get a better view. He knows that makes Dean uncomfortable. Like the whole personal space issue. Although Castiel found himself disappointed whenever he noticed the odd movement behind Dean’s eyes, indicating discomfort. It always showed up just before Dean asked him to back away. Cas obliged every time, despite his irrational desire to remain close to the man.

This desire is something that has bothered him for a long time. He isn’t sure where it comes from, but he’s wise enough that he can identify it, and it terrifies him. He is, after all, an angel. Merely having such a close friendship with a human would be considered unadvisable, even scoffed at, by many of his fellows. Before he met Dean, Castiel would’ve agreed with them, would’ve said that such attachment is a weakness, could become detrimental to an angel’s duties. He might have called it foolish.

But now…

It seems strange to him how much he’s changed in knowing the remarkable man sitting on the other end of the ratty motel couch. Angels are not generally creatures who embrace change, especially within themselves. So he understands, really, why so many of his brothers and sisters fail to understand what it is about Dean Winchester that caused him to change so drastically. Sometimes Castiel isn’t exactly sure himself.

The angel he was before meeting Dean is long gone now. The Righteous Man taught him about free will, taught him to believe in something. And now Castiel finds himself at a crossroads, because the thing he really believes in, absolutely, above all else, has changed as well. It used to be his father; then it became protecting the world from evil, and then saving it from the wrath of his brothers, but now it's just...Dean.

Cas knows that his feelings for the man have grown far beyond what humans would consider platonic. He knows this because Dean makes him feel emotions he barely recognizes, emotions he’s never felt before. And they are terrifying to him. A few years ago he would’ve been disturbed by the idea of merely being such good friends with a human; what would he have said about the feelings he has for Dean now?

Nothing good, he imagines.

But then, a few years ago he didn’t realize he was even capable of these emotions.

Castiel sighs, staring at Dean out of the corner of his eye; he’s still watching the TV with deep interest.

He doesn’t feel unfortunate that he’s developed this attachment to Dean—though it is mildly irritating and majorly distracting the way his vessel reacts to Dean’s proximity. As it turns out, he has a surprising ability to feel a great level of physical desire or attraction in the human sense. It’s not an altogether unpleasant sensation. But he wishes often that it could be directed towards someone else, so he could know what it feels like to have those desires fulfilled. In all his thousands of years, he’s still a virgin—before this, he never had an interest in sex that was enough to act on. Now, he’s found himself pining for Dean constantly. He’s never wanted something so completely, so badly.

And then there’s the emotional component. The part that makes Castiel want to shake Dean by the shoulders and convince him of the truth whenever he looks in the mirror and sees nothing worthwhile. The part that makes him think of Dean when he’s thousands of miles away and worry constantly about his well-being, though he’s fully aware that Dean can take care of himself. The part that made him feel like his heart was encased in cold iron whenever he heard Dean’s prayers over the past two months and couldn’t immediately go to his aid.

In simple, human terms, he’s in love with Dean.

It’s a pleasant emotion, one that he enjoys, but it hurts him on a shockingly deep level to have this feeling be so utterly unrequited and to know that it will always be this way. After all, Dean considers him a friend, nothing more. Of this Castiel is sure.

Dean sneaks a glance at his friend, who immediately blinks and stares fixedly at the TV. He looks very pensive, deep in thought. Dean wonders what he’s thinking about and then sighs inwardly. If they were dating, then he could just _ask_ —

Whoa, what? If they were _dating?_ Where the hell did that come from?

He has to stop this train of thought before it goes any further. It’s one thing to be attracted to his best friend, but wanting to _date_ him? That is out of the question. Not allowed. Lust? Fine—well, not fine, but apparently he’s just going to have to put up with it. Wanting a relationship? No way, José. Not cool.

He turns his attention back to the sexy yet earnest Dr. Piccolo and forces his thoughts as far away from the blue-eyed angel as they will go.

“I don’t understand,” says Cas. “Why is the blond woman calling him ‘Tony’? I thought his name was Alex.”

So much for that. Dean swallows. “Um, yeah, Dr. Carlton screwed up her lobotomy so now she thinks he’s her dead brother.”

“Oh,” says Cas, though really he still doesn’t get it.

“Are you two done over there?” calls Sam. “Because I could really use some help here.”

Dean turns to look at him. “Could it be? Have your superpowers for nerdy research finally failed us?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Actually, yes. I’m stumped, and we’ve got no new leads. You have any ideas?”

“Nada. Cas, anything? You still out of angel mojo?”

Cas frowns. “I’m not sure. Let me see if I can…”

He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales slowly. After a minute, he grunts a little and mutters, “ow.”

Dean’s a little unsure of what’s going on. “Uh…you okay?”

“I’m…fine,” Cas opens his eyes. “But I was unable to fly anywhere.”

Sam and Dean simultaneously make the exact same disappointed face. “Damn,” says Dean.

“Okay, we’re officially stuck,” Sam grumbles bitterly. “We need to call Bobby.”

“I agree,” Cas agrees, and just the _sound of his voice_ raises the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. _Dear god, Winchester. You’re hopeless._

“Dean? Hello?” Sam waves a hand in front of his face. Every time he starts staring at the angel he drifts off into fairyland.

Dean blinks guiltily. “What?”

“We calling him or not?”

“Oh—yeah. ’Course we are.”

* * * *

“Idjits,” Bobby grumbles through the phone. “Can’t do a damn thing without me.”

“Any ideas?” Sam asks.

“Not off the top of my head, I’ll have to check. You really can’t find any other connections?”

“We searched vigorously,” Cas says.

“Wait a second,” Bobby’s sudden frown is practically audible, “that the angel?”

The three men look at each other.

“…yeah,” says Dean. “Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Cas moves closer to the phone, brow furrowed. This sounds rather ominous; what reason could Bobby have for not wanting the Winchesters to hear? He doesn’t know the man particularly well, so he can’t imagine. “Yes?”

“Alone.”

Dean scowls. “Why?”

“Boy, just trust me, all right?”

Dean and Sam exchange glances. “Okay, Bobby.”

“We’re alone now,” says Cas, once the Winchesters have left the room. “Might I ask what this is about?”

“Dean,” comes Bobby’s gruff voice from the other end of the line.

Cas frowns warily. “Um—what about him?”

“Don’t play dumb, I catch you two staring at each other. All the time. It’s fuckin’ annoying. Every time you look at him, it’s like a lovesick puppy dog.”

Cas’s stomach drops through the floor and he’s suddenly very glad that Dean’s in the other room. Obviously, Bobby is a lot more perceptive than he lets on.

He swallows, having trouble speaking, and it takes him a moment before he’s able to reply, “I…I’m not sure what—”

Bobby sighs in exasperation. It makes an odd noise through the phone. “Look, angel boy, I just wanted to tell you dumbasses that—well, if you two end up getting together, it’s fine by me, but if you hurt that boy I swear I will hunt you down and cut you into pieces. Got it?”

Cas is unsure how to respond to this, so he simply says something along the lines of “…yes?”

“Good.”

The line goes dead.

Cas stares at the phone. He has no idea how to react to that.

 “Can we come in yet?” Dean calls from out in the hall.

The angel clears his throat, unnerved, and tells the Winchesters to come in.

“What the hell was that about?” asks Dean.

“I’m not sure,” says Cas.


	6. Denial.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s gotta be some other connection,” Dean mutters in frustration. “I mean, something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I posted this chapter a bit ago, but then I took it down and added some more. So here it is again, new and improved.

“There’s gotta be some other connection,” Dean mutters in frustration. “I mean, _something._ ”

 “We’ve been through these people’s lives three times,” says Sam bitterly. “What could we have missed?”

“Obviously we won’t be able to solve this case until we know more about whatever killed these people,” says Cas. “Have you not been able to come up with anything in your research?”

“No, still nothing.”

Dean sighs. “Well, Bobby hasn’t called, so I assume he’s stumped too.”

Conveniently, Sam’s phone decides to ring at that moment.

“Hello?”

Dean and Cas stare at him curiously, watching his facial expressions: confused at first, then a sudden dawning comprehension.

“I see,” he says. “Thank you for letting me know.”

He hangs up.

“Well?” asks Dean impatiently.

“There’s been another murder. Let’s go.”

* * * *

The fourth kid was killed in a motel. It’s the same as all the others, only this time Team Free Will gets to see the crime scene before the body is carted off to the morgue. It’s a young, thin boy with blonde hair, sprawled out across the bed. There are huge portions of his flesh missing and the parts that are still there are so pale it’s like looking at paper.

The guy who gave them the room key stands awkwardly in the corner; he doesn’t seem to want to leave.

Cas bends down over the corpse and sniffs.

“Uh…what are you doing?” says Dean.

“Searching for clues,” says Cas without looking up, like it’s obvious.

“Dude, a dead body doesn’t work the same way as a scratch and sniff.”

Cas shoots him a look and then holds up several hairs. “I was looking for these.”

“Uh—”

“Donkey hairs again?” Sam interjects, receiving a nod from Cas.

“This is fucking weird. Do we know his name?”

The guy in the corner pipes up, “Um, I think he said it was Frank. Frank…McIntosh or McMurney or something…”

Sam pulls something out of the corpse’s pocket. “McClintic?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“I’m guessing you found his ID?” says Dean, crossing his arms.

“Yep. Nothing of consequence on it.”

Dean scowls. “Damn. Hey, listen, buddy—”

“George,” says the guy in the corner.

“Right, uh, George. Did Mr. McClintic tell you anything about himself?”

“Well, yeah. He mentioned that he was only in town for one night. Just, you know, passing through. Said he was from South Dakota and he was on a road trip to Texas to go meet some family. And he was a big Duke Ellington fan.”

Cas furrows his brow. “Duke of where?”

Dean shakes his head. “Dude, no. Uh, George, you seem to know a lot about this guy. What exactly…”

George shrugs. “I also know he was straight, if that’s relevant.”

Dean blinks. “Uh…”

“I started a conversation with him so I could ask him out for coffee. He declined.”

“That must’ve been…very uncomfortable for you.”

George sighs. “Yeah.”

Sam glances between the two of them and shoots Dean a _what the hell?_ look. “Okay…thanks, George.”

George nods.

“Dean, Sam,” says Cas suddenly, “I think I may have found something.”

He holds up a small piece of paper which he apparently pulled out of the trash can. Dean rushes over to get a look: it’s a receipt from the 7-11 downtown.

“Other than the motel, this seems to be the only place in town that our victim went to,” says Cas. “I’d say that warrants a second look.”

Dean and Sam exchange impressed glances. “All right then. Let’s go.”

The Winchesters head for the door, but Cas appears pensive for a moment and doesn’t move.

“Cas?” asks Dean, hand on the doorknob. “You coming?”

“Perhaps I can…” Cas mutters thoughtfully, then closes his eyes.

“Cas, what’re you—are you trying to fly again?”

He doesn’t get a real answer, just a single, curt nod and a finger held up to silence him. Then Cas’s eyes twitch and he crumples to the floor, blood leaking from his nose.

“Goddammit, Cas!”

* * * *

Castiel wakes up in Dean’s arms.

His eyes are still closed; he knows where he is because he has learned to recognize Dean’s scent, the scent of liquor and car oil and leather.

Upon realizing this, he wonders what could possibly be going on. Then he remembers passing out on the motel floor.

Perhaps it was unwise of him to attempt flying at this stage. He’s not quite _powered up_ yet, as it were.

He doesn’t open his eyes because he doesn’t want Dean to know he’s awake; instead he just listens to him discussing things with Sam.

“Well, what happened?” comes Sam’s voice.

“I don’t know,” says Dean, sounding a little panicked, which sends a pang through Castiel. “I think he tried to fly off somewhere and then he just passed out—”

“I guess he hasn’t gotten his angel juice back yet.”

“Apparently not.” Dean sighs and tightens his grip. A shiver runs up Cas’s spine. “Dumb son of a bitch.”

Cas doesn’t dare move, but his fingers itch with the urge to clutch Dean closer to him. It’s a little unnerving how content he is being carried by the man. It feels nice, like…home.

This is a dangerous train of thought. He ought to let Dean know he’s awake.

Meanwhile, Dean is repeatedly cursing out the angel in his head. Idiot had better learn his limitations at some point. Can’t just expect himself to be fully healed out of nowhere.

He tried not to concentrate on the fact that Cas is fucking wrapped up in his arms right now, sleeping again, and—

“Dean.”

Scratch that, he’s awake.

“Hey. You okay?”

Castiel tries not to move. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Dean doesn’t put him down.

Sam decides to ignore that fact and instead just holds the door open while the two stare at each other like puppies.

Lovebirds. Half-adorable, half-sickening.

“I’m, uh…I’m gonna take a walk,” he says, leaving the two alone in the motel room.

“Wha—um, okay,” Dean responds, without looking away from Cas.

 _Seriously,_ he thinks, _why can’t they just bang already?_

Ugh. Gross.

He’s getting sick of the sexual tension between the two of them; he figures the best thing to do is to just leave them alone as much as possible, and hopefully they’ll resolve it on their own.

“You sure you’re all right, man?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean sets Cas down on the couch carefully and watches him settle himself in, wincing periodically.

“For the record, you’re an idiot.”

“Yes, I’ m getting that.”

“Seriously, man. You need to take it slow. You’re not going to be all healed up immediately. Besides, where were you planning to go?”

“To the 7-11. To investigate.”

“Well, you could’ve told me that. I mean, if it had worked, we’d all be gallivanting around trying to find your ass.”

“You’re right. Apologies.”

Dean blinks. Well, that was easy.

Suddenly Cas looks up at him, and there’s something in his eyes that Dean doesn’t recognize, and that scares the shit out of him. Suddenly his mouth has gone dry and he’s utterly unable look away from Cas’s face. “Dean?”

He says it so intimately, like his name is a fucking prayer, like it’s something he whispers to himself to keep from falling apart, like that name holds more meaning to him than any other word in any language, and Dean wants to start freaking out, but he’s kind of been immobilized. He can’t move or speak or breathe or think anything but _shit jesus Cas I think I’m fucking in love with you._

Cas’s bright blue eyes stare calmly into the hunter’s green ones, which are unnaturally wide for some reason, and he feels dangerously close to uttering three words he’s absolutely positive Dean isn’t ready to hear, but he _wants_ to, wants it more than anything.

Only he can’t, so he just says “Thank you,” in a small voice.

Dean swallows with great difficulty. “For what?”

“Taking care of me.”

Dean’s natural response would be to say something like “always” but, ahem, _no,_ that is cheesy as fuck, so he goes with “’Course.”

And Cas is staring in him in that way he does, and Dean’s heart won’t shut the fuck up and he _still_ can’t breathe right. “I’m going to, um, take a leak,” he manages, and darts into the bathroom.

At this point Dean might be close to hyperventilating because _what the fuck happened back there_ and he’s pretty much just been hit in the face by a brick wall.

 _I think I’m fucking in love with him,_ he repeats to himself.

…Fuck.

_No, it isn’t that, it’s just lust, just a temporary thing, that’s all, it’s…not…_

He can’t even come up with a better pathetic excuse than that.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He is so screwed.

While Dean so very bravely hides in the bathroom, Cas sits patiently on the couch, thinking to himself: _I need to be more careful._ Several many times since he agreed to stay on for this case, he’s come very close to telling Dean something in the vicinity of the truth. And that cannot be allowed because the chances of Dean reacting well to this news are about as high as the chances of Dean ordering a salad the next time they eat at a diner.

Whatever happened just now, whatever it was, it clearly frightened Dean just as much as Castiel. He’s not sure what that means, but nothing’s safe to assume. He thinks back to his phone call with Bobby. Now that was simply weird.

He has to keep his feelings to himself. His friendship with Dean is something he’s come to treasure, and he won’t risk destroying it for anything, certainly not this. He glances nervously at the bathroom door and sighs. Keeping secrets. It hasn’t turned out very well for him in the past, but this time it’s necessary.

Dean leans over the sink and breathes deeply.

_Okay. Okay. I can handle this. So I’m in l—_

_So I have feelings for my best friend. So what?_

It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he planned to say anything to Cas, anyways.

Dean’s gotten quite good at shoving down thoughts he doesn’t like by this point, so he’s able to keep wonderings about Cas at bay relatively effectively. They nag at the corners of his brain constantly, but he has the confined; they can’t go any further than his internal _Scary Emotions Line, Do Not Cross._

He resolves not to think about it, takes another deep breath, and leaves the bathroom.

With a slightly forced smile, he sits back down on the couch and stares determinedly straight ahead.

…Or at least, do the best he can to not think about it while Cas is _right fucking next to him._

“I guess we’ll just have to wait to investigate the 7-11,” Dean sighs, checking his watch. It’s almost 5pm now. His stomach grumbles. “You idiot, you put the whole investigation on hold.”

Cas doesn’t say anything except “I should have my _angel juice_ , as you say, back in several hours.”

Dean swallows and tries to ignore the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach; once Cas has his mojo back, he’ll fly off somewhere and leave them.

Dean doesn’t want him to leave.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Yeah. Good.”

Sam chooses that moment to walk through the door again and looks vaguely disappointed at the sight of the two of them sitting several feet apart on the couch.

“Oh, hey guys,” he says. “You ready to check out the 7-11 now?”

Cas stands up, wincing only slightly. “Yes.”

* * * *

It’s oddly vacant when they get there; the neon _open_ sign is still flashing, but the lights seem dimmer somehow and none of the three of them can see anyone inside. They exchange glances and walk in slowly, a breeze blowing ominously at their backs as they enter the store.

“Anyone else get the feeling it’s a little…empty in here?” says Sam cautiously.

“Wasn’t there somebody at the counter last time? An old lady?” asks Dean, apprehension rising in his chest.

“Mrs. Kaplan,” Cas corrects. “Her absence is…suspicious.”

They all jump  when Sam’s phone goes off; he curses quietly and picks up in an urgent whisper. “Hello?”

“Sam, its Bobby. I think I found something.”

He shoots Dean and Cas a wary look. “Oh? What do you got?”

“Some ancient Greek monster called an Empusa. Some sort of demigod, actually. Apparently it seduces young men in their beds, then eats their flesh and drinks their blood. It’s said in its true form to have bright red hair and only one leg—the leg of a donkey.”

“…That seems…accurate.”

“Yeah, and get this: it could be any woman in the general vicinity. Supposedly they can shapeshift to look prettier as well. So I’d say watch your back for any strange women.”

Sam’s heart speeds up a little and he gulps nervously. “So how do you kill one?”

“Lucky for you idjits, that’s the easy part. Just a beheading ought to do the trick.”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Bobby.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The line goes dead.

“Well?” whispers Dean. Sam repeats all the information Bobby gave them, and by the time he’s finished, all three of them are ostensibly on edge.

“Okay…” Dean considers carefully. “If it were me, I’d try to disguise myself as someone ugly. Take myself off the suspect list. Or—”

“Someone ugly…or just old,” Sam finishes.

“I think it’s extremely fortunate for us that Bobby called just now,” says Cas quietly, staring at the counter.

“Why?”

“Because I believe our Empusa may be entering the room right about now.”

The Winchesters turn to look at the counter, and sure enough, a steady _clop clop clop_ can be heard coming their way from out of the back of the 7-11.


	7. Disappearances.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean groans and lifts his head, which by the way, hurts like a son of a bitch. He tries to move his arm, realizes he can’t, and looks down.
> 
> He's fucking tied to a chair.

The three of them immediately squat down to hide, but Cas stumbles a bit in doing so and presses his palms to the floor for balance. Then, because his luck is just that great, he has to resist crying out in pain; one of his hands landed right on a loose, rusty nail.

“ _Ow,_ ” he hisses, pulling the thing up.

“Shh!”

The elderly Mrs. Kaplan enters the room humming to herself. She has a slightly unsteady gait, presumably from the one donkey leg, but she’s behind the counter so they can’t tell. The deep shadows conceal the three of them from her notice at first, and Dean mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “shit—do we have a blade?”

Cas glances down at his coat.

“Good.” Dean reaches in and grabs the long silver knife out of Cas’s pocket, ignoring the way the closeness sends a shiver up his spine. Cas inhales sharply and swallows, suddenly unable to move. Thankfully, Dean doesn’t hear his muffled gasp.

“How will we know if it’s her?” Sam whispers.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Well, if she has one donkey leg, I’d say that’s a pretty big giveaway.”

Mrs. Kaplan’s head snaps up. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The three of them cringe, shrinking back into the shadows. _How can she not see us right now?_

Apparently the old lady disguise comes with all the downsides of being an actual old lady.

“Well, come on,” Dean breathes. “We’ve gotta figure this out sooner or later.”

And without waiting for a response he stands up, much to Sam’s dismay.

“ _Dean, what_ —”

“Shh!” He’s already approaching the counter; behind his back, he motions to the two of them to stay where they are.

“Mrs. Kaplan? Hello again.”

Mrs. Kaplan peers at him and adjusts her bifocals. “I’m sorry, young man, have we met before?”

“Uh—Nick Mason, FBI.” He flashes her the badge, just for effect.

“Oh, that’s right, I remember you.” She smiles. “What can I do for you, agent?”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step out here for just a moment.”

She blinks. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, no, but if you could just—”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think that’ll do.”

“Ma’am—”

“I said no, young man. I don’t deal with hunters.”

Dean takes a second to mentally swear at himself and then instantaneously reaches for his pocket. He doesn’t get very far, because in the time it takes him to do that, Mrs. Kaplan hits him with a baseball bat which apparently materialized out of thin air and knocks him out cold.

Old ladies are _fast._

“Dean!” Cas yells, running up to the counter with Sam on his heels. Unfortunately, Mrs. Kaplan is _very_ skilled with long pieces of wood and somehow manages to duck his grasp and whack him right in the gut. Cas stumbles backwards, wheezing, while Sam pulls out his gun and points it straight at Mrs. Kaplan’s head.

“Don’t move,” he breathes heavily. She smiles and takes a swing. His hand squeezes the trigger reflexively, but the rock salt has no effect on her, and by the time she’s been hit, he’s already down.

* * * *

Dean groans and lifts his head, which by the way, hurts like a son of a bitch. He tries to move his arm, realizes he can’t, and looks down.

He's fucking tied to a chair.

“ _Shit,_ ” he mutters.

“He’s awake,” comes a whisper to his left—Sam tied up in a chair right next to him. He looks to his right. Yup. There’s Cas. Unbelievable.

 _Oh, of course._ It just figures, doesn’t it, that the three of them somehow managed to get incapacitated by a fucking grandma with a baseball bat.

“Dean?” Cas whispers. “Are you all right?”

“Well, I’m tied to a chair. How the fuck did you two get beat up by Angela Lansbury?”

Cas takes that as a _yes_. “Who is—”

“She’s a lot faster than she looks,” Sam mutters.

“Tell me about it.”

“She also tied these ropes extremely tight,” comments Cas.

“You got anything sharp on you?”

“No, she took all my knives.”

“Shit. Me too. Cas, you empty?”

“I believe so.”

Dean blows out a breath. “That’s just peachy.”

“Shut up, I think she’s coming.”

_Clop clop clop._

She’s wearing a long dress, so they can’t see either of her legs, but the fluffy pink bunny slippers don’t cover her left foot all the way. Or rather, hoof.

“I have to say,” says the old woman, pacing a circle around their chairs, “you boys were awfully easy to disarm. I was expecting better from fine hunters like yourselves.”

Dean scowls. “What gave us away?”

She _tsk_ s annoyingly and gives him a patronizing smile. “Oh, sweetie. You ask all the wrong questions. Not to mention that one—” she nods toward Cas “—looks more vacant than a corpse. If he was a real Fed, he’d have his tie on straight.”

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean sighs.

“Plus, Nick Mason is the drummer for Pink Floyd.”

If Sam could’ve smacked his own forehead at that moment, he would’ve. “ _Dude!_ You have to stop using Rock  & Roll aliases.”

“Yeah, thanks for the advice, Sammy.”

“ _So,_ ” Mrs. Kaplan interrupts, “now I have some new meals. Normally I catch ‘em in their sleep, and I’d prefer a bit younger, but…” she licks her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Dean struggles against the ropes, but to no avail. Mrs. Kaplan stares at three of them in contemplation.

“Hmm…should I start with the oldest and work my way down? Or launch right in?”

Cas realizes suddenly that Mrs. Kaplan missed something in his pockets and immediately starts wriggling to get to it.

“Do I save the best for last?” Mrs. Kaplan continues. “Hmm…”

After a good deal of squirming, Cas is able to get the tiny object into his palm and start sawing at the ropes binding him with the pointy end.

“Listen, Miss Daisy—” Dean clears his throat, thinking fast to stall time. “You, uh, you don’t want to eat us, I mean—our blood is probably nasty. Sammy used to have a thing or demon blood, so I bet his tastes like two-dollar whiskey—which, believe me, I’ve had enough of to know.”

Sam knows his brother is trying to buy them time. He’s not sure what that’ll accomplish, but he figures it can’t hurt. “Yeah, and, I mean, Dean went to hell. They must’ve done some really messed up stuff in there, there’s no way his blood meets your standards—probably tastes like shit, really—”

With a sudden lurch, Cas is all the way through his ropes.

Mrs. Kaplan seems irritated by his sudden talkativeness. “Shut up and let me decide which of you to eat first.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” says Cas, who then stands up and socks her right in the jaw. She’s so surprised that she stumbles backwards, which gives Cas time to hit her again, in the gut this time. She gasps and falls to the floor. Cas dashes back to the chairs and starts to untie Dean.

“ _Come on_ ,” he urges, working as fast as he can to get them undone before Mrs. Kaplan can get up. Finally, the ropes come loose, and Dean reaches over to get Sam.

“You son of bitch,” Mrs. Kaplan hisses, standing up slowly. By the time she’s on her feet again, she’s facing all three of them.

“You guys hold her off, I gotta get my knife,” Dean mutters, and bolts out of the room.

“Aw, _seriously?_ ” Sam calls after him, ducking Mrs. Kaplan’s punch.

“Come on, come on,” Dean mutters, searching the back room frantically. After a second, he spots the blade in a corner and snatches it up hastily. When he gets back to the main room, Sam has a bloody nose and Cas is sporting a fat lip.

“I’ll kill you this time, you little punk,” the old woman spits, lunging at Cas.

“I don’t think so,” says Dean. He swipes at her head with the knife; it comes off cleanly and rolls across the floor.

The three of them stand there, panting, and stare at it.

“Dude,” says Sam, holding his bloody nose. “Next time, _I_ get to go looking for the knife.”

* * * *

They eat crappy takeout in the motel room again, and through the whole meal, Dean and Cas keep staring at each other when they think the other won’t notice.

Sam notices.

It’s driving him insane. Seriously. These two are the most emotionally stunted people on the face of the planet. He _would_ just give them some more time alone and hope they’ll sort it out, but the chances of that seem pretty slim at this point.

But then again, what else can he do?

Sam sighs. “I’m going for a walk, okay? You two…enjoy yourselves.”

Dean shoots his brother a baffled look as he walks out the door. “The hell was that about?”

Cas shrugs.

Dean clears his throat. “So. Case is over.”

“Yes.”

“Guess that means you’re…”

Cas cocks his head in confusion. “I’m what?”

“Well, you know. I mean, once you’ve got your angel mojo back, I guess then you’ll be…”

He trails off, unable to finish the thought. Some quiet, selfish part of him wants Cas to heal as slowly as possible. After all, as soon as his batteries are in full working order again, he’ll leave at the first chance.

Cas stares at him with concern. “Then I’ll be what? Leaving?”

Dean swallows. “Well…I mean, yeah. You always do.” Everyone always does.

Cas shakes his head indignantly, something behind his eyes darkening. “Dean. I don’t leave because I want to. I leave because I have to. Do you honestly not realize that I wish with all of my being I could stay?”

Dean doesn’t have a response; half of him doesn’t want to believe Cas. The other half is just tired of all the fucking games and wants to come clean with him.

“Doesn’t seem like it. You always seem to find some excuse to take off.”

“The circumstances always seem to be that the way to keep you safe is for me to stay away from you.”

Dean stands up, hot anger pumping through his veins. “Dammit, Cas! How many times! You don’t have to keep me safe, you don’t have to protect me! Try taking care of _yourself_ for once!”

“That’s incredibly hypocritical, coming from you! My welfare is not your responsibility, yet you always treat it as such!”

Dean walks around the table and gets in Cas’s face. “At least I tell you. You keep things from me _constantly!_ You vanish, you don’t tell me where you are, you don’t tell me what you’re planning—”

Cas’s eyes flash dangerously. “You are not my keeper, Dean. I don’t have to—”

“You don’t have to tell me everything! Fine! I respect that! What you do have to do is tell me the truth! Show a little trust, man!”

“You don’t think I exhibit _trust_? Do you think I don’t count you close enough to me to tell you all my secrets? Is that it? Do you think I undervalue you, like you so undervalue yourself?”

“Don’t turn this around on—”

“You still don’t think you deserve to be saved! Why are you so determined to believe that you are unworthy, unworthy of salvation, of happiness, of love? You deserve all of these things, yet you allow yourself none of them!”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“You have just as much right to all of it as anyone else does, Dean! Why do you not see that? Why do you not see that dragging your soul from hell was not a mistake?”

Dean’s eyes are huge and terrified, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet and angry, and he can barely keep it from shaking. “Don’t pretend like you know—you’re the one who keeps _leaving,_ so don’t you stand there and act like—”

It’s not that Cas had been planning on this or anything; it’s not that he thought it was a particularly good idea—he wasn’t thinking anything, really, but it seemed like a good way to prove his point, and Dean’s just _there,_ with his green eyes all huge and bright, and Cas can hear both their hearts pounding frantically, so he leans in, closing the gap between them, and kisses him.

His lips are soft and warm, and Dean’s only thought is more of a wordless _?!?!_ of blank shock. For second he just stands there limply with Cas pressed up against him, and then his _what the fuck?!_ instinct and he stumbles backwards a few steps.

Dean stares at Cas, totally stunned, while Cas stares back, obviously just as scared and surprised by what he’s just done as Dean is.

“Wh—you—why—what the _fuck?!_ ” he splutters.

Cas looks around desperately for an answer but finds none. He gulps.

“Dean, I—I can explain,” he says, and promptly disappears.

“Oh _come on!_ ” Dean yells furiously into nothingness.

Apparently, he’s finally got his angel mojo back.


	8. Dr. Phil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great. Now he's going to want to have a feelings talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...I've been kind of inconsistent lately. My bad. We are coming to a close here, though, people. So don't touch that dial!

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Castiel buries his face in his hands, berating himself relentlessly. Is there a single thing in the whole of his existence that he could manage to _not_ massively screw up?

One moment. That was all it took, one moment of anger and desperation and idiocy. And now look what he’s done. Now Dean knows the truth.

He swears at himself mentally and tries not to panic. What can he do now? Dean is undoubtedly furious with him for disappearing; in all honesty, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to fly anywhere yet, but he was so distraught that he attempted it by way of knee-jerk reaction. It’s difficult to decide whether it’s fortunate or unfortunate that it actually worked. On one hand, he now doesn’t have to deal with Dean’s immediate reaction, which surely involves a good deal of shouting. On the other hand, he’ll later have to deal with Dean’s delayed initial reaction, which could quite possibly be far worse in terms of how much it’ll hurt him.

He knows that Dean must not be handling this well. He’s doubtlessly angry, confused and upset in varying levels at the moment. A sharp twinge of remorse surges painfully through his chest at the thought of causing the Righteous Man even more pain than he has already. Is he incapable of not harming anything and everything he cares about?

Sadly, he can already see how this will probably play out: Eventually, he’ll return to speak with Dean, since at this point he’s so helpless he can’t stand the thought of being away from him for too long. There’ll be yelling, in which Dean will demand an explanation, and Castiel, doormat he apparently is when it comes to Dean Winchester, will be forced to oblige, resulting in utter speechlessness on Dean’s part. The man is so emotionally stunted he’s completely unable to deal with any affection beyond familial or a brief physical connection. Then will come the questions: “for how long” and “why didn’t you tell me” and everything in the emotional vicinity. And then…

Abruptly, it occurs to Cas that beyond the explanation, he has no idea how Dean will react to this, which frightens him a great deal. What if Dean became so uncomfortable with knowing the truth that their entire relationship was compromised?

Cas wants to hit himself. He’s ruined everything now.

He sighs, rubbing his temples forcefully. No doubt Dean is throwing some kind of temper tantrum right now, trying to figure out what just happened.

 

 _What the hell just happened?_ Dean thinks frantically. “God fucking damn it, Cas!” he yells aloud, feeling an overpowering urge to throw something. “You get back here _right fucking now!_ Don’t you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch!”

No response.

“Cas! Answer me, god dammit, I know you can hear me!”

He kicks the wall. Hard. It doesn’t help.

 _Okay, okay, calm down…calm down._ Dean sits on the bed, buries his head in his hands and tries to take deep breaths to calm his shaking hands (what the fuck, why are his hands shaking?). “ _Fuck,_ ” he says again, at a normal volume this time, and groans.

“…Dean?”

Dean looks up to see Sam standing in the doorway. Concern is practically radiating off the guy.

_…shit._

He sighs. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam cautiously steps towards his brother and almost sits beside him on the bed, but then decides against it. Whatever’s wrong, clearly he has to be very careful or his brother will spontaneously combust.

“What happened?”

Dean can’t quite muster up an adequate response, so he just stays silent. Sam’s worry level immediately doubles itself.

“Where’s Cas?”

“He…took off.”

“You mean he got his angel juice back?”

Dean nods.

“Well where’d he go?”

“No idea.”

Sam comes a little closer. “Uh…did you two have a fight or something?”

Reluctantly, Dean manages to respond, “Yeah.”

Sam’s brow creases visibly. Dean can literally see in his eyes the moment when he decides it’d be a good idea to attempt a therapy session on his big brother. _Oh, god._ He groans inwardly. _Great. Now he’s going to want to have a feelings talk._

“What about?” he starts off cautiously.

“It doesn’t matter, Sammy, okay? He got mad, and…flew off somewhere.”

 _That doesn’t sound like Cas,_ Sam thinks suspiciously. Unless they’re back to crazy, bee-loving “don’t like conflict” Cas, the angel wouldn’t just vanish in the middle of an argument. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something happened.”

“ _It doesn’t matter what happened,_ Sam! All right? He’s gone. End of story.”

Sam crosses his arms. “Dean. Come on. Tell me.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What are you, Dr. Phil? We argued. The end.”

“Dean…”

“For god’s sake!”

“ _Dean._ ”

 _God dammit, Sammy._ “He—he kissed me, okay?”

Sam blinks, stunned, and immediately has to stifle his smile from the _thank god, finally_ rushing through his head. “You were fighting, and he kissed you, and then flew off?”

There’s really no response besides a glum nod.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Dean covers his face again, and Sam can’t help feeling sorry for the guy. Obviously he’s genuinely hurting right now, even if he refuses to admit it. He has to sort things out before he talks to Cas or he might do something stupid and drive them apart indefinitely.

“Are…you okay?”

Dean sighs. He’s too tired to do the whole _don’t psychoanalyze me, bitch_ argument. He’s sick of all the bullshit, to be honest, so he just says, “not really. But I will be.”

Sam waits, not saying anything, while his brother’s frustration builds to the point where he has to express it aloud.

After a second, Dean adds, “Stupid son of a bitch. Who the hell kisses somebody in the middle of a fight? And then just _leaves?_ Who does that?”

It feels like there’s a golf ball wedged somewhere in his throat, but now that he’s started, it’s somehow easier to just keep going.

“Why’s he always gotta run off? Would it kill him to stay, just once, and not go anywhere? What is so hard about that? And why—” he pounds himself on the forehead—“why in the _fuck_ would he just do that to me in the middle of an argument? What am I supposed to do with that? How can I even deal with that? It’s like he expects me not to be confused by all the stupid, ridiculous shit he does! I don’t know where it came from or what it means or what he wants me to do about it, but now I can’t even tell him—”

Dean stops short, not because he’s caught himself or somehow found the will to shut up, but because the words won’t come out of his mouth. They dissolve before they get there and he doesn’t have the strength to force them out.

But Sam knows how that sentence was going to end, and it sucks because he almost never sees his brother so helpless. The upside is that this time, there’s a pretty simple solution.

“He loves you too, you know.”

Dean shoots his brother an agonized expression and then covers his face again. “Don’t do that, Sam. Just—don’t.”

“I mean it, though. He does. You wanted to know what him kissing you means? Well, that’s it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you can’t see. It’s the same way you look at him. And I know you’re probably the two most emotionally constipated people on the planet, but for god’s sake, just get together already and make everyone’s lives easier.”

There is no way to reply to that. Dean keeps his face hidden.

“You could be happy. You both deserve that.”

When Dean speaks again, his voice is small and wavering; he sounds like a lost little kid. “I don’t know what to do, Sam.”

Sam sighs. Honestly, his brother is such an idiot sometimes. “Pray to him, and tell him the truth. Come clean. It’s the best way to do this, trust me.”

Dean doesn’t move.

Sam smiles. “I’ll make myself scarce. See you later, Dean.”

And with that, he leaves the motel room yet again so that his brother can work things out with the angel.

 _Take good care of him, Cas,_ he thinks.


	9. Definitely.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Cas, I, uh…” he swallows painfully. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So: this is it. The inevitable conclusion. Hope you enjoyed the ride-- it's been fun for me. As always, feedback is eternally appreciated. Thanks for reading :)

“Hey, Cas, I, uh…” he swallows painfully. “Shit.”

As much as he tries, the words won’t come, so he just ends up with a meek “I—I’m sorry, man.” Pathetic.

 _Man up, Winchester_. “Look, it’s—I’m sorry I reacted how I did, but you really took me by surprise. It was pretty…unexpected, and I freaked out, and I guess so did you, but—”

He gazes upwards desperately, as if hoping to see a pair of blue eyes appear out of nowhere. The ceiling remains heartlessly, starkly white. This is crazy. Any conversation between the two of them will be—

 _Come on. Get a grip._ “Cas, I—listen, just get down here, okay? I feel like an idiot talking to nothing.”

Nothing. No nerdy angels pop up, hard as Dean stares at the empty room.

“Come on, Cas. Please? I’m asking you, just—please.”

He waits for a second, getting nothing but silence, then lets out his breath and leans back against the wall in disappointment.

And _then_ Cas decides to show up.

There’s the sound of soft wingbeats and Dean’s heart jumps in his chest as a thin, scruffy man with a dingy old coat and insanely blue eyes appears out of thin air before him.

For a second, they just stare at each other.

Then: “Hello, Dean.”

Dean blinks. “Right. Yeah. Hi.”

“I…I apologize for running off.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, well. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

Cas nods gratefully, then sits down on the bed, staring at his lap. He knows he should probably be the first to speak, explain his actions. He’s searching hard for something to tell his friend, but everything that comes to mind seems too ridiculous to say aloud. What answer can he possibly give?

But he has to say something, so he tries anyway.

“Dean, I am sorry for…what I did. I feel I owe you an explanation, and—truth be told, I should’ve told you this long ago.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, unblinking, with his heart racing and palms sweating.

Cas can’t look at him. “I am unsure of how to tell you this, but—”

That’s it. He’s stuck. He’s choking on the words, trying to force them out of his throat, but they won’t budge. He’s helpless, lost, and utterly ashamed.

And that’s when Dean sees the light.

They could keep doing this dance for the rest of their miserable lives, neither able to admit it, both knowing it but unable to act on it. One of them has to do _something_ eventually.

Fear gnaws at his gut, and he feels a little dizzy from just being near Cas, but he’s always been strong-willed, and he knows what needs to be done; this is the breaking point.

“Shit,” he mutters, then strides impulsively across the room, cups Cas’s face in his hands, and kisses him on the mouth.

Cas makes a startled noise, his hands flying up in the air to hover awkwardly above Dean’s shoulders, unsure what to do. Dean kisses him forcefully, purposefully, and after a moment, Cas does what feels natural, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. Both their hearts are pounding like they’ve just run a marathon. It’s slow and sweet at first, but then an edge grows on the kiss. Cas’s lips are soft, and Dean tastes them hungrily, fingers reaching up to tangle in the angel’s hair. Cas shudders a little and leans in, experimenting with his instincts. The two become ravenous, intertwined, and Dean is exceptionally glad his brother decided to leave.

He’s never been kissed like this before; like every inch of him is precious, like he’s everything. Cas maybe isn’t the greatest kisser in the world, but it’s _Cas,_ and dear god, Dean wants him so bad he can’t think. He reaches up clumsily to Cas’s tie and starts pulling it off. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and Cas grabs at Dean’s jacket; he shrugs it off, trying to undress without pulling his lips away.

After a good deal of effort, they end up in the bed, Dean in nothing but his boxers, Cas still in his pants with his shirt half unbuttoned. Dean climbs on top of him hungrily, running his hands over Cas’s chest and kissing him fiercely and gently all at once.

 “Dean…” Cas breathes softly, apparently for no other reason than to say the name aloud. Dean pulls away to look at him and finds the angel staring back at him like nothing else exists.

No one’s ever looked at him quite like that before.

It scares the shit out of him, but not enough that he’s willing to stop kissing Cas, so he leans in again, and this time they don’t break apart for quite a while.

* * * *

Neither of them says anything for a long moment, they just lie there in each other’s arms.

“Dean?” Cas says quietly. Dean turns to look at him and is immediately startled by the expression on Cas’s face.

“Hey,” he replies, voice barely above a gravelly whisper. “Yeah.”

“I love you.”

Dean blinks. Knowing what Cas was trying to say while watching him struggle to get the words out and actually hearing them are two very different experiences. It was so hard for Cas to even attempt it the first time, it’s a miracle he’s even managed it. The least Dean can do is reciprocate, never mind his crippling fear of emotional expression.

He takes a deep breath. And swallows.

“I love you too,” Dean says, and kisses him slowly.

When they break apart, he can’t help giving Cas a grin and murmuring “was that really so bad?”

“I suppose not. Though it’s odd I found it so difficult to say once the situation actually called for it. I’ve been on the brink of telling you numerous times in the past six months.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m irresistible.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely. Now I can cross ‘seduce an angel of the lord’ off my bucket list.”

Cas chuckles and pulls him close; they stay like that until the sun goes down.

When Sam gets back to the motel, he checks in their room, smiles, and closes the door behind him.


End file.
